Something shifts between us again—familiar now, that pull. Stronger this time. Less tentative.
I don’t overthink it.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask.
Her brows lift, surprise flashing across her face.
“Wow,” she says softly. “I didn’t take you as an ask permission guy.”
“Well, I am.”
“That’s… nice.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “To answer your question: Yes.”
Thank fuck. I close the distance.
My hand comes to her waist, steady, grounding, giving her time to pull back if she wants to.
She doesn’t. So I kiss her.
Every second of restraint, every delayed moment, is worth it.
She’s warm, responsive, just enough bite to keep me from taking over completely.
I could very easily take more. So I don’t. Because she deserves to be wooed.
I keep it controlled. Measured.
Even when she leans into it. Even when her hand slides up my chest like she’s testing how far this goes.
I pull back first. Not because I want to.
Because I have to.
Her eyes open slowly, a little unfocused.
“Okay,” she says, a little breathless. “That was… ”
“Yeah.” I grin. “It was.”
“Come on.” I take her hand. “We have a date.”
The ride is easier this time. Less inquisitive. More open.
She still asks questions. I still don’t answer all of them.
But it doesn’t feel like an interrogation.
By the time we arrive, my body is thrumming from close proximity to her. I want to kiss her again. And I know just where we’ll do it.
I pull up to the curb, open her door, and hand the keys to a valet. She pauses just inside, looking up.
“Wait,” she says slowly. “I know this place.”
“Do you?”
